Cod Almighty | Article

by Various

15 February 2025

In this mixed up, muddled up, shook up and topsy-turvy world our glory days passed by in a blink of an eye as we became them and they became us.  Words, not necessarily wise, are flowing out of our assorted diarists and match reporters like endless rain across that curious netherland of flatlands straddling South Yorkshire and North Lincolnshire. Yes, it's time for some Donny diversions and distractions with another cathartic compendium of Cod Almighty's obtuse observations on Our Harry's new herm.

“…and there will be jubilation in Fishopolis on Saturday night if the Town succeed!” (Hull Daily Mail April 1926)

Some things are best left unsaid. If we don't mention them, then they never happened. Let's dive into the past to see the future.

Our mighty Mariner memorialist, the one and only truly original Diarist, spent many an hour waiting on Donny station on his way back home and always used to be "tickled by an advert which said: "Can they make Doncaster what they made Carlisle?"

It's not there anymore, so presumably "they" have either made Doncaster what "they" made Carlisle or decided the answer was no and given up. Neither of which answers the question begged: "Er, what did they make Carlisle, exactly?" And all of which bears only the slightest relevance to the fact that Town are hosting Doncaster Rovers this afternoon.

Or does it? As our Diarist mused, ”the mighty imperial seat of our postcode region. The place where you change trains to go to London. Folk in fancy clothes getting off trains to watch the horses. Ed Miliband. One Direction. Trains, planes and horses. Doncaster Rovers. We used to meet them on our way down. But these days it's all different“

The fortunes of Donny Rovers and GTFC have assumed a curious inverse relationship in recent decades. While those golden moments from Wayne Burnett and Kevin Donovan were giving Town fans a 1998 to remember, Rovers were dropping out of the League. Ah those glory days, they pass you by in the blink of an eye. As we sank they rose from the ashes (literally) after an old scoundrel burned down the house and, as our old Diary noted, whereas Town were "saved from ITV Digital by a local fridge magnate they were saved by a local cosmetic surgery magnate to give the club (insert Motsonian chuckle here) a comprehensive facelift.”

Watch out you might get what you're after.

Our ships passed one barmy, balmy night in an infamous game at the Old Belle Vue in 2003 after which the referee rang up one of our occasional (to the point of homeopathic) contributors defending his performance from some pithy observations.

Those days it was all different, with Blundell Park a gleaming modern cathedral in comparison to the home of the Belle stars. As our match reporter noted, in a sign of the times, "Some teenagers were aghast at the standard of the ground; they were clearly too young to remember the jumpers for goalposts days in the old fourth division. Well, when in Rome, as Jimmy Hill once said in Paris.”

"The good news was that there was a new toilet block somewhere in the ground, which was loudly trumpeted by their tannoy announcer. Not literally trumpeted in Herb Alpert style – a little light Latin lip movement in South Yorkshire would be too much to expect. The bad news for anyone wearing sunglasses was that the toilets at the away end didn't have any working lights.”

The game itself was a ramshackle rollercoaster of miss after miss after miss after miss from the cherry-hooped homesters. And then Town scored with an uproariously deflected free kick. Disco Des Hamilton was sent off moments before a Beckhamesque chip from long forgotten Anderson clipped the bar and Quick Mick Boulding was hauled down as the empty goal gaped. A penalty converted and it was time to hit the road to dreamland for Town:

"Wahey, a flukey 2-0 win. Never mind the quality – feel the width of victory.
Ah, summertime, when the winning is easy. Let's relax and watch the last 20 minutes drift by, as the clouds drift across the moon, giving an eerie pink tinge to the sky.”

Town are Town. "We needed some more dilithium crystals – the whole ship is breaking up, we cannae hold it any more” as Marcel Cas tripped a little tigger. Off he went, in went the penalty and way, way into added time a scruffily mishit bomble bumbled through the penalty box and "..the inappropriately named Blundell stretched and poked the ball in at the far post.”

The season never recovered and Town haven't recovered their position in the football hierarchy since. It makes you pine for the days of Stacy Coldicott, which to too many of our younger fans sounds like a country and western balladeer rather than a yard dog midfield battler.

The weather was turning against us: thundery showers, moderate, becoming poor. A few friendlies here, a reserve game or two there and assorted oddball cup matches and it was 13 years before next we met in proper football. In the interregnum we barely spoke of each other.

In 2016, on the resumption of rivalry, our Middle Aged Diary mused on the nature of life in our northern towns:

"Brian Blessed, Diana Rigg and Jeremy Clarkson were born in Doncaster.
If Saturday's match is decided by which town can claim the greatest number of counter-stereotypical celebrities (it's an idea FIFA was toying with before Sepp Blatter was suspended) then Doncaster have the edge. However, we will surely field the player of the match. Not only do we have Patricia Hodge – she of the commanding nose and the southern vowels: we can also point to John Hurt, visibly heartbroken in an episode of “Who Do You Think You Are?” when it was shown that his supposed Irish aristocratic ancestry was made up out of whole cloth by a "fish merchant forebear”. And John Hurt is the Omar Bogle of visible heartbreak.

Is there a more serious point to be made here? Do well-off people still stay in the towns to which they owe their fortunes, bestowing on them imposing buildings as they did in the late 19th and early 20th centuries? Do their sons and daughters, with the leisure and the opportunities to cultivate their dreams, grow up in northern towns?”

They may not stay, but they do come back, for home is where the heart is. There's just one question hanging like Danny Rose in the air: "Can they make Grimsby what they made Doncaster?"

Maybe Harry will hurry home then.

These are the full versions of the Cod Almighty programme articles for the 2024/25 season. An edited version was published in The Mariner on 5 October 2024.